


look who's digging their own grave, that is what they all say

by staubfingers



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staubfingers/pseuds/staubfingers
Summary: Andrés comes back for him, and there is no better way to say 'I love you' than asking 'Will you print money with me?'.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín
Comments: 30
Kudos: 242





	look who's digging their own grave, that is what they all say

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre canon and throughout seasons one and two. I think I fucked up the heist-timeline somewhat, but it would have changed anyway with Palermo being part of it, anyway, and I didn't just wanted to retell everything so the plotpoints are only implied.  
> Title is from _Icarus_ by _Bastille_ , and this might be full of mistakes, since I only learned English in school.

Despite telling him he feels the same, that he loves him equally, that they are _soulmates_ , Andrés leaves him and the moment he walks out of the door Martín's heart shatters.

-

He cries and drinks, screams until his throat hurts, throws up and doesn't know whether it's due to the alcohol or the _pain_ in every fibre of his body, and then he passes out. For days he clings to this routine, spends hours with just sitting in a chair, staring at the remainders of their plan, of their _life_ together. He doesn't know what's worse; the certainty that Andrés has left him for good or the small glimpse he got on what could have been.

Maybe, if he told him sooner, before wife number five made her appearance, before they started to fight over melting gold and killing hostages, maybe then he'd still be here. He goes over every small detail of the last few months and tries to find the reason for why everything turned to shit, but no matter how hard he thinks about it he doesn't know what was the finale straw that made Andrés leave.

After staying sober for nearly one day he realizes that he's always left behind, no matter what he does and doesn't do, that it's just how their relationship works; Andrés simply can't stand him for more than a few months.

He gulps down the better part of a bottle of hard liquor upon realizing this and sleeps for an hour. When he wakes up it's to the ghost of Andrés' lips on his mouth.

-

The obsession with the plan shifts to an obsession with Andrés and the few minutes they have spent _together._ No matter how old he'll grow he's certain he'll be able to feel what he felt when Andrés kissed him as soon as he closes his eyes and just concentrates hard enough. Sometimes, when he's a few minutes from passing out and he thinks back to the way Andrés smelled, the way he smiled, and his skin felt under the tips on his fingers, he falls asleep and dreams of that evening. But in those dreams Andrés doesn't leave, he keeps on kissing and holding him, and tells him how much he loves him all over again.

Whenever he wakes up from a dream like this he wishes he'd be strong enough to finally put an end to everything _._ One way or another. 

For a minute he had thought Andrés would stay that he wants him just as much and that they'll finally be together like they're supposed to. Then he realized how wrong he had been, and ever since it's like his life has ended. That his body merely keeps on moving, keeps on _hurting_ , but that he died a few seconds after Andrés set a foot out of the door, and everything from now on is meaningless.

-

'Getting better' is not the right term, but he stops being that shattered at least. It's mostly because he finally leaves the godforsaken monastery for his old flat, and not every single piece of furniture reminds him of the perfect, little moments he had shared with Andrés. He even tries to focus on new projects, meets and fucks strangers, and only cries himself to sleep two or three times a week.

He's aware of how pathetic he is, but he can't possible hate himself more than he already does, “So whatever,” he says and drowns his glass of expansive wine without even tasting it.

Three months _after_ he feels something that resembles 'okay', and than Andrés knocks on his door.

-

No one knocks on his door, there is hardly any person who knows where he lives, so for a second he thinks about the possibility of it being _him_ and scolds himself for it instantly. He's already slightly tipsy so he staggers more than he walks to the door and when he opens it his first thought is, that he probably had more to drink than he had realized.

“Hello, Martín.” Andrés smilies like he didn't leave him to cry on the floor after kissing and telling him that everything he ever hope for was _impossible._

“What are you doing here?” Martín asks, surprised how calm he sounds.

“Tatiana and I separated for good,” he smiles even wider and Martín is hit by the sudden desire to punch him.

“I'm not in the mood to listen to your certainly devastating break-up story,” Martín growls and just wants to shut the door when Andrés steps into his flat and closes the door himself.

Acting on instinct Martín takes a few steps back, but Andrés follows him. Like he did _before._ “What are you doing?” Martín mumbles and it sounds pathetically hopeful, even to his own ears.

“I realized the mistake I made by leaving you that night.”

And there it is; the spark of hope he tried to repress ever since he heard the knock on the door. “No,” he whispers, feeling his back hit the wall, “Don't do this to me. Not again.”

Andrés steps closer, until their bodies are pressed against each other and Martín feels his legs beginning to tremble. “I won't. I tried to talk myself into not wanting you, into being strong enough to walk away, but I am not.”

A tear escapes his eyes, “I waited so long.”

“I know,” Andrés says and wipes it away, “I know, but it's over now.”

Martín leans in and Andrés doesn't stop kissing him this time.

-

When he wakes up the next morning he doesn't dare to open his eyes since he's too afraid that everything he thinks has happened last night had only been a dream. A wonderful, too perfect dream. But there is an unknown source of warmth next to him, a familiar smell in his nose, and stretching one hand out he meets naked skin.

He enjoys those sensations for a few moments and when he finally cracks an eye open he looks right into Andrés face. Still not quiet believing this is real he places one hand on his cheek, strokes the barely traceable hint of a stubble. Andrés isn't wearing his shirt any more and Martín doesn't remember him taking it off. Last night is a blur, they were kissing and touching, and he was so unbelievably happy that he had thought his chest would explode any moment. And he had cried, like all the tears from the last months just waited to come back as soon as he let his guard down.

“Stop staring,” Andrés says lowly, eyes still closed.

“I can't believe you're really here,” Martín admits.

“I am.”

“Are you staying?” He didn't dare to ask last night, too afraid of what the answer might be.

“I don't intend to leave you.”

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Then why did you? You told me you didn't want me.”

Opening his eyes Andrés says, “I never said I don't want you.”

“But now that your wife left you and you don't want to be alone you remembered me?” His voice sounds bitter and feels the anger creep upon him. 

“My love,” Andrés grins, ”this has nothing to do with Tatiana, and everything with me wanting to quit lying to myself. I thought I had to protect you and what we have from myself, and it might be the sensible thing to do, but I l caring about being sensible.”

“It wasn't,” Martín whispers, “It was never sensible to leave us behind.”

“Did I hurt you?” Andrés asks, rolling on top of him, their faces now merely an inch apart and the weight of his body pressing Martín into the mattress, “Did I break your heart?”

“Yes. Yes, you did. And I still don't get _why._ ”

“I can't possibly explain it any better than I already did, and it doesn't matter. We're here now.” Andrés places a small kiss on Martín's lips and he wants to protest. It _does_ matter, at least to him. Then there is another kiss, and he feels his anger melt away as fast as it came. 

“Promise me you won't leave me again. Don't decide all of the sudden I'm not what you want, not again.”

“I promise, you will be everything I want for the rest for my life,” Andrés says, and Martín might even believe him.

-

They stay in bed for two days straight, only leaving it to fetch something to eat or to go to the bathroom. Andrés seems to have forgotten about the one percent that had stopped him from doing this in the first place, Martín learns when he swallows Andrés' cum, but doesn't comment on it, too scared to break whatever spell made him come back to him.

With every minute he seems to forget more and more about the last three months, and it scares him since it will make being left behind once again only impossible harder. But he's too weak to put an end to it now, even the thought of telling Andrés off makes his stomachs sick and his hands tremble. So he relishes every second, thanks a God he doesn't believe in for giving him this, however short it might last.

They are lying next to each other, panting and sweating, when Andrés asks, “Will you print money with me?”

And of course he will, he'd follow Andrés to the end of the world after all. 

-

The next few months are surreal. Martín wakes up every morning being afraid that this is the day Andrés finally leaves him again, but he never does. It's all he has ever dreamed of and even the possibility of not having this any more makes him crazy with despair, so he holds onto Andrés, literally and metaphorically, like a teenager with no experience what-so-ever would, and weirdly enough he isn't pushed away. He has met Andrés last three wives, and the one thing Andrés always despised was them getting _clingy_. Not just that Andrés complained about it, which made Martín bite his tongue in order to stop himself from saying _“dump her, be with me, I'm better, I know what you need”,_ it was painfully obvious as well, since he'd freed his hand out of their grip whenever one of them tried to hold it longer than a few seconds, or even slightly but firmly pushed them away when they came too close.

And even though he despised them for acting this way when Andrés clearly didn't like it, Martín does exactly the same now, realizing it's impossible not to touch when he's finally allowed to. When he caught himself placing his hand over Andrés' while they waited at a restaurant for their dinner for the first time, he flinched, certain he'd be rejected like the wives always were, that Andrés would be _disappointed_ , but it didn't happen. Instead a look of confusion and maybe even anger flashed over his face before he intertwined their fingers and didn't let go until a waiter came towards their table with their dinner.

So Martín is madly in love and unbelievably happy while they travel all through Europe with money Andrés earned doing whatever while they were apart for those few months, and wait for Sergio to call them.

-

“What about the one percent?” Martín asks one evening in France, feeling drunk with the bottle of wine they shared over dinner. The air is still too warm, even though it's past midnight and they are lying next to each other without any clothes nor covers.

Andrés doesn't answer, only pulls him in a little closer with the arm he has slung around his shoulders.

“This one percent,” Martín clarifies and takes Andrés hand into his and places it around his own spent cock, “Thought this was what made you leave, but you didn't seem to mind a few minutes ago.” He isn't able to fully conceal the hurt in his voice, Andrés decides to ignore it though since he only grins, “Sometimes even I, and I hate admitting it, am wrong.”

With a small kiss to Martín's temple he starts to move his hand up and down his cock slowly, and swats Martín's hand away, when he tries to hinder him. Sighing, he surrenders and tries to concentrate not too much on the unpleasant feeling of his cock being forced to hardness only a few minutes after he came. “What made you change your mind?”

“My life was lacking of something vital without you in it, and I realized that _this,_ ” he emphasizes the word with a tight tug on Martín's cock which makes him moan, “cannot be too different from touching a women.”

For a second Martín wants to disagree, since even _thinking_ about touching a vagina, let alone stick his tongue or penis into it, makes him uncomfortable, but then Andrés' hand fastens its pace and his cock slowly gets erected again.

“To be honest, miss breasts,” Andrés adds and places the other hand on Martín's flat chest to pinch one of his nipples, “but the noises you make whenever I do this nearly make me forget about it.”

Martín feels his breathing getting faster and louder, the hand around his dick feels so good that his hips start to move into it uncontrollably, and he buries his face into Andrés' shoulder to muffle the groans. After a few more minutes he comes again, his whole body seemingly on fire, and with a low laugh he tries to remember the last time he came two times in half an hour. 

After his body stops shaking Andrés goes to the bathroom to dampen a towel and clean him up, and Martín feels completely satisfied when Andrés lies down again and places a kiss on top of his head. “Now sleep, my love,” he whispers, and Martín does.

-

The people Sergio gathered for the heist are incompetent idiots and Martín is furious that he settled for this dumbass' plan instead of melting gold.

“You can't be serious, Sergio!” he growls after their first day of _class,_ “Where did you even-”

“It's _Professor_ from now on, I to-”

“Professor my ass! This is ridiculous!”

“No one forces you to be here, you are free to leave. I'm certain we'll split your share of the 2.4 billion fairly.”

The worst part of it is not the arrogance, but the stupidity of thinking this joke of a plan could really work. Shaking his head he looks to Andrés who is leaning against his desk, grin on his face.

“You two have gone totally mad,” Martín huffs and leaves the room, unfortunately he still hears Sergio saying, “See you tomorrow, _Palermo.”_

-

The other people are not as bad as he thought they were. Sure, half of them are annoying and the rest is insufferable, but at least they are not completely useless and seem to have to add a particular skill to the plan's execution. Besides Denver, who's of course only there since he's Moscow's son. It makes the fact that _the Professor_ forces them to act like they haven't met before even worse. Sure, he is more than ready to pretend to not know the Professor, which he wishes was true, but with Andrés it's something else entirely. At least he thought so at first.

Andrés has been more than ready to follow his brother's orders and after a few days of only being alone with him for a few hours each night and being annoyed by the whole situation, he saw the appeal of it: Andrés and Martín met ten years ago, had been friends just as long, there was no aspect of the other's life they didn't know about. Berlin and Palermo on the other hand don't know each other, aren't aware that they are soulmates, didn't spent years living together, and Berlin certainly never hurt Palermo like Andrés hurt Martín. 

They stay the same, but it's something perfectly new, and Martín starts to love being Palermo.

-

While Berlin flirts with the two women, who are absolutely not impressed by his advances, Palermo flirts with Denver, because it makes him embarrassed and uncomfortable, even though a part of him is undeniable flattered, and whenever his naïve youth bores him he shifts his attention to Denver's father. Moscow only laughs and shakes his head with every one of Palermo's compliments, and somehow sticks to him through their short hours of free-time, and it nearly feels like making a friend. At one point he even dares to flirt with Helsinki and is ready to dodge a punch, but instead of being offended Helsinki grins and says, “You know where my room is,” and leaves with a wink. Palermo is still not entirely sure whether he was joking or not.

Of course, after a few days of more or less ignoring each other, he shifts his attention to Berlin. But just as Nairobi and Tokyo are unimpressed by his remarks, Berlin only smiles weakly whenever Palermo suggest they could move a certain conversation to somewhere more quiet.

Everyone seems to be oblivious to them both enjoying the stupid banter, besides the Professor who rolls his eyes every time Palermo dramatically asks where Berlin has been all his life, and annoying him certainly is a bonus.

-

The sex with Berlin is rougher than the sex with Andrés. Maybe it's because they do it after a long day of listening to talks over police protocols and building-plans and are more frustrated than after a day of strolling museums and excellent meals, but maybe it's just because Berlin and Palermo are supposedly different people, so of course the sex has to be different as well.

However, Berlin still likes to shove him against walls, and he just did so, after coming into Palermo's room without so much of a knock, undoes his own belt and forces Palermo down to his knees. Caged in and cock down his throat he feels weirdly calm, and moans around it when Berlin growls, “Touch yourself, Palermo.” It's hard to concentrate when a hand pulls on his hair and his mouth is getting fucked vigorously, but he manages to open his jeans and grip his cock after a few tries.

The fact that he's not getting quiet enough air and the pain on his scalp and in his throat turn him on more than he deemed possible, and he's only a few strokes away from coming when Berlin groans get louder and he suddenly just stops and pulls out and Palermo to his feet. He wants to protest, but Berlin kisses him, long and deep and loving, and says, “You want to get fucked, don't you?”

He only nods, feeling breathless, and walks them over to his bed. Berlin merely grins, as he's pushed onto the mattress and leans his back against the headboard, legs stretched out on the covers and says, “Take your clothes off.”

Grinning he does as he's told, and when he's standing naked in front of the bed he raises an eyebrow, “What about you?” Berlin is still fully dressed, didn't even take his shoes off, only his trousers are still open, erection standing wet with Palermo's saliva and precum.

“I'm comfortable. Now come here. Onto your hands and knees.”

He makes Palermo finger himself open then, all the while watching and only laughing lowly and saying 'not yet' every time Palermo pleads to " _fuck me"_ or tries to touch either of their dicks _._ Palermo's legs start to shake in want, in _need,_ and it feels so much like an orgasm, even though he's positive he isn't able to come like this, that he might grow crazy with the sensation. Berlin finally takes pity on him, jerks his cock fast and hard, until he's coming all over the covers.

Only then Berlin fucks him. He gets up, rearranges Palermo's tierd body, and enters him in one fast motion. In the beginning it was Martín who made sure Andrés came first, but now it seems like Berlin took a shine into fucking Palermo, when he gets nothing out of it. And even though it usually hurts more than it does feel good, Palermo loves every second of it.

When Berlin comes he takes hold of Palermo's cock and tucks so perfectly on it while hitting his prostate with one last push that he wants to scream with the feeling of it and bites down into the cushion to muffle himself. He falls down onto the bed, his limbs boneless, and cum slowly leaking out of him. “Stay tonight, I miss you.”

Berlin leans down and kisses his cheek. “I hope for you, you got clean sheets in your room, otherwise I'll make you go out to get new ones naked and covered in my sperm,” he slaps Palermo's ass slightly, who only laughs.

-

Tokyo and Rio are fucking, and even though it's painfully obvious no one comments it, which makes him wonder who knows about Berlin and himself. Definitely not the Professor, who is oblivious to everything that's going on around him.

“Ignorance is a bliss,” Palermo whispers into Berlin's ear, when Tokyo leaves the dinner table no minute after Rio to “go to bed early”, and the Professor doesn't even bet an eye. Berlin only laugh and smiles at him in a way that makes Palermo's heart sink.

The “I love you” is on the tip of his tongue, but that might be too much, even for the newspaper reading Professor who sits next to them.

He makes up for it later, when they are alone in his room, though.

-

The months pass by and despite his initial doubts Palermo starts to believe in the plan's success. He'd rather melt gold than print money, but he can't deny he's looking forward to finally entering the Mint. One evening they are sitting all together and talk about what they'll do with the money, and it's hilariously absurd.

“I'll go to Disney World. No! I'll _buy_ it and live in the castle,” Denver says.

“I think I'll buy something with a home cinema, like a real big one, and a cotton-candy machine,” is Rio's answer.

“A big fucking car, worth more than a normal person's house,” Nairobi grins.

“Don't forget you have to stay low, and going to Disney World in an unreasonable expansive car is not the way to do it.”

“Oh come on Professor,” Tokyo groans, “Stop being such a buzz-kill for once. What will you do with your money?”

He only shrugs and not for the first time Palermo is afraid the guy really does all of this just for some idealistic purpose.

“I will travel the world, only sleep in the most expansive hotels, eat at the best restaurants, buy a private jet,” Berlin says and looks at Palermo when he adds, “Maybe I'll find someone to join me.”

“I heard during a heist people tend to develop extreme feelings for each other,” he answers with a grin.

“Do they?” Berlin raises and eyebrow.

“Get a room!” Nairobi mocks and the Professor shakes his head in disbelieve.

So maybe they are not any less obvious than Rio and Tokyo.

-

It's the last night before the heist, and no matter how hard he tries Plermo isn't able to fall asleep. His mind races with everything that could go wrong, every eventuality that the Professor has a solution for, and despite the seemingly perfection of the plan he can't shake the feeling that they missed _something_.

He has never been nervous the night before a heist, on the contrary, he usually could hardly wait for morning to come, but now he wishes nothing more than to stay in this house for another week, another day, forever.

Next to him Berlin has his eyes closed, looking as peaceful as Palermo wishes to be, and he realizes that this is probably the last time they have had sex for the next ten days, let alone sleep next to each other for more than an hour.

“You think everything will go according to plan?” Palermo whispers, hoping Berlin is not quite asleep yet.

“Of course it will. You can say a lot about my brother, but he wouldn't send us in if he wasn't prepared for every possible outcome of his actions,” Berlin answers and opens his eyes even though his voice sounds tired.

Palermo only nods.

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” he realizes, “but not for me.”

“I know me and I know you, we're getting out of there,” Berlin smiles and places a small kiss on his lips.

“One way or another,” Palermo mumbles and puts his head on Berlin's chest, listens to the beating of his heart. There is a hand in his hair and one on his back, both slowly stroking, and with the soothing feeling of it he falls asleep after all.

-

Of course not everything goes according to plan since no one could have expected the stupidity of some of the hostages, and even some of their own. Berlin gets a hostage killed, and while Palermo couldn't care less the others turn on him, even the Professor. It's a mess for a while, but they get their act together, print more money than they could ever dream of, fight only every other hour and don't shoot another hostage. Everything is fine until it isn't, Oslo dies and then Moscow, and suddenly none of them is so sure any more that they'll get out of this alive.

Palermo feels on the edge, screams at everyone who talks to him, and might shoot the next one telling him another bad news, or tries to _calm him down_.

“You're erratic, my friend,” Berlin whispers into his ear after slamming him against one of the bathroom stalls, “You make the hostages nervous and even some of our friends complained to me about you becoming a liability.”

“I am _not_ a liability!” Palermo growls, “This whole plan-”

“Will turn out fine. Four days and we're out of here. Now turn around and stop thinking.”

Berlin stretches him with only spit and after scissoring two fingers inside of him not nearly long enough he fucks him. It hurts like hell and Palermo wants to tell him to stop, but then there is a slick hand around his dick, jerking him, and he tries to focus on this instead.

They come at the same time and Berlin forces his cum-stained fingers into Palermo's mouth for him to clean them up. “Better?” he asks, still buried inside of him and Palermo nods while sucking on the fingers.

“Good.” Berlin turns him around, the cock leaving him feels somehow worse than when it entered, and Palermo hisses in pain. “Now stop being like this and _focus._ I need you in order to get us all out of here.”

Palermo nods again and kisses Berlin, makes him taste his cum.

The pain keeps him grounded and it looks like they'll get out of this without another loss.

Then, on the next day, someone turns on the TV.

-

The Professor told them not to do it and Palermo thought it was stupid, and now he wishes he turned it off as soon as the news broadcast started to flicker over the monitor, just to live a few more days in his own precious, ignorant bliss.

Everyone turns silent and Palermo feels their eyes burning holes into his back, like he'll turn around and explain it to them, like it's just another of the Professor's plans. But it isn't, not this, never this. And now everything makes sense, why Berlin came back for him, why he ignored the _fucking one percent._ He feels sick.

Someone says something, but he hears the words without understanding their meaning. He storms past them, ignoring their calls.

Berlin is keeping watch over the hostages, slowly strolling the room, absolutely satisfied with himself.

“You son of a bitch!” With a few steps he stands in front of Berlin, barrel of his gun pressed right under his chin. He looks confused, which makes Palermo only more angry.

A hostage starts to scream, someone calls his name. “Is that why you came back, because you didn't wanna fucking die alone?!”

Berlin sinks into himself, an unreadable emotion flashing over his face.

“Maybe you should talk somewhere more _private_ ,” Nairobi hisses, suddenly standing next to him.

“Listen to her,” Helsinki says, when none of them moves an inch. He takes the gun out of Palermo's shaking hand and he doesn't even try to fight him. Berlin just wordlessly turns around and leaves, and Palermo follows, the anger steadily growing inside of him. He's led into one of the small offices and when he closes the door behind himself, he leans against it and growls, “She left you and you didn't want to die alone, so you came back for me, since you knew I was _stupid_ enough to wait for you to change your mind. It was never about me.” His voice sounds like he's close to tears, he probably is.

“No,” Berlin sighs, “I left you because I knew it will break you to watch me die. But I was selfish, I told you the truth when I said there was something missing, something vital, and I didn't bear the thought of spending my last few years without it.”

Palermo shakes his head, looks to the ground, asks himself how he could have missed it. _A few months_ they had said on the news. There must have been signs, signs he _decided_ to ignore, because he wanted this to be real, to last forever.

“Look at me,” Berlin says, standing right in front of him now and forcing his head up, “I'm sorry I came back, but this, us, it's real. You were never the second option, your were the only option.”

He feels a tear roll down his cheek, “Why didn't you tell me? Why not tell me the night you came back, the night you left?”

“You wouldn't have cared, you would have wanted me to stay,” Berlin says and smiles, fucking smiles besides slowly dying.

“Of course I would! Fuck you! You wanted to protect me? I wanted to die every second of those few months after you told me I was your _soulmate,_ and _kissed_ me, and then left me without an explanation _why_! You call that protection?!” His shaking hands claw into Berlin's ugly overall, wanting to pull him closer and to push him away. It's getting harder and harder to breathe through the tears falling down freely now.

“I shouldn't have come back,” Berlin says and wipes away Palermo's tears, “I'm sorry I did it, but I don't regret anything.”

“You should never have left me. We missed so many months.” _So many years._ He lets his face sink against Berlin's shoulder, feeling all the strength leaving his body, “We'll find someone who can help you, all the money must be worth something.”

“There is no hope,” Berlin whispers and puts his arms around Palermo's body, kissing the top of his head, “You'll have all the money you could ever need and the memory of our time together, _that_ must be worth something.”

“It's worth shit,” he says. _It's worth everything._

-

Berlin tells everyone some soppy story about being fortunate, for that he's one in 100.000 with his condition, and they drink and seem somewhat relieved, but of course they are, they don't care about him, he's just another gear in the Professor's plan.

It's Palermo who orders them back to work since he wants to get out of the Mint _yesterday_ to find a way to fix this. And he will, he has to.

He joins Nairobi to monitor their workers, and looks at all those meaningless bills.

“Want me to beat him up for you? Seems like he deserves it,” she asks, cautious smile on her face.

For the first time since turning on the news broadcast he starts to laugh, “Yeah, he probably does.”

“Great, I'll talk to Tokyo, she waits for this opportunity _for months_ ,” she grins and comes a few steps closer, places her hand on his shoulder and he lets her, “I'm really sorry, you know.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, voice sounding like he'll start to cry again any moment. He hates it. 

“How long have you two been together?”

“Ten years,” he says immediately and desperately wants it to be true. Maybe it would make all of this less painful.

-

They take their daily three-hours-nap at the same time this night and no one says anything about it. Not like Palermo would have cared. He doesn't care either about Berlin's protest when he crawls into his sleeping back, “There is hardly enough room for me.”

“Shut up,” he growls and surprisingly Berlin does.

After this short exchange they lie in silence and for the first time Palermo's awfully glad he isn't able to sleep while lying on the floor, not wanting to miss any minute of this. He strokes Berlin's hair, his face, kisses everything he can reach and takes in his smell. And Berlin lets him, only pulls him closer, seemingly enjoying it as much as himself.

“I love you,” Berlin whispers at some point, when Palermo dozed off after all.

Tomorrow they'll be out of here and he can hardly await it.

-

It's only a few meters to the safe, everyone already went into the tunnel, besides Berlin, Helsinki and himself. The special forces are right behind them, far closer than Palermo would like them to, and he thinks rapidly about a way to get rid of them when Berlin stops in his tracks.

For the split of a second he's confused, but then he understand. “No! No fucking way!”

“We don't have time for this-”

“Yeah, right, so come on,” Palermo interrupts him and takes his hand into his own to pull him further along, but Berlin stays where he is. Helsinki stopped as well, looks back and forth between the two of them, but keeps his mouth shut.

“It's hardly fair if we all go to prison, when I have to die in a few weeks anyway,” Berlin says, sad smile on his face and ignoring Palermo's desperate _'you won't'_ , “It's better this way, not just for you.”

“I'll stay with you,” Palermo says, in horror even over the thought of leaving Berlin behind to die alone.

After mouthing something that looks awfully lot like _'I'm sorry'_ Berlin orders, “Helsinki, take him with you.”

Palermo turns around, hand already on his gun, absolutely not letting himself be taken away. He doesn't even feel Berlin's blow.

-

When he wakes up again it's with a headache and a sick feeling in his stomach. He's sitting upright in a drivers cab, busy streets unfolding in front of him. He wants to say something, but only a strange noise comes out, and before he even realizes what his going on, he has an empty bag in his hand and pukes right into it.

After the heaving stops Helsinki takes the bag out of his hands, look of pity on his face. He turns to his other side where the Professor is sitting, dried and new tears all over his cheeks.

Palermo closes his eyes and falls back into the darkness.

-

For the next few days on the boat there is hardly a second he finds himself alone. Most of the time it's Denver, Nairobi or Helsinki who is sitting next to him and quietly keeps him company. They probably think he'd throw himself off the boat if they don't watch him, and they might be right.

At some point they part ways, everyone is hugging him, sad, sympathetic smiles on their faces. He never hated them more.

He stays with the Professor, because they are equally alone and miserable, and Palermo doesn't know where else to go. After another few days on boats and inside shabby cars, they end up on a beautiful, white beach and he realizes he doesn't even know in which country they are.

“Did you know?” Palermo asks, standing with naked feet in the sand, looking over the infinitive vastness of the sea. It's the first words he has spoken since the others left.

“He told me the evening before you went into the Mint.”

He doesn't know whether it makes him angry or hurt, and he wants to asks why neither of them told him, instead he says, “I loved him.”

“Yes,” the Professor says and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Finally he's able to cry.

-

The months pass by and Palermo doesn't feel much at all, he's just empty. It might even be worse than the pain he felt, after Berlin left him the first time. He drowns everything in alcohol and drugs, since he has enough money to get the good stuff now. The Professor tells him he needs to get better at least twice a week, and he ignores it. At one point he says, “You think Andrés wants to see you like that?”

It doesn't help exactly, but he stops drinking too much and only takes drugs on weekends. He even starts to learn the local language since he needs something to take his mind off, and no one in this part of the world speaks Spanish, let alone Italian.

A year later the Inspectora, who came into the Mint one afternoon, joins them and a few days later she comes back with her mother and daughter. Palermo doesn't really get why, but she and the Professor are madly in love, and he only shrugs about it, getting his act further together in order to not be a horrible role-model for the kid.

It's another few months later when Tokyo stands on their doorstep as well. She has fucked up, once again, and needs the Professor's help. Once again. They frantically talk about a way to fix this, when Palermo sits down with them and says, big smile on his face, “I think it's time to melt some gold.”


End file.
